


See the lightning in your eyes

by amusensical



Series: Forging a Bond [7]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Canon Compliant, Daggers, M/M, Magic, Peril to children but no harm, Puppy Carter, Swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28397160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusensical/pseuds/amusensical
Summary: Title from “You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid” by The Offspring
Relationships: Commander James Barnes/Howard Carter (Rusty Quill Gaming)
Series: Forging a Bond [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079369
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	See the lightning in your eyes

“We don’t even know where they are, not really.”

They are sitting on the patio again, but it’s not at all festive. Wilde is still here, and Bes, and a map is spread on the table. Barnes traces the route from where they are, outside Cairo, toward the coast.

“They could be here, or here, or here,” he says, and he might as well be pointing randomly at any dot on the map, along the back roads and through who knows what at this point.

“How many,” asks Carter, who is sharpening daggers. As he finishes each one, he throws it into one of the pillars that hold up the balcony above them, throws them without really looking. The _thunk_ makes Wilde flinch every time, makes Carter smile every time.

“Ten,” says Bes, his low voice quiet, rumbling with disquiet. “We know of ten.” 

“And how many of them?”

“At least four. Moving fast. There’s something near Port Said where they need kids.”

 _Thunk._ “So we go? Find them?” says Carter. He is looking to Barnes, ready.

“We do,” says Barnes, looking back, “We go find them, and we get them back.”

Carter stands and steps over to where his daggers are stuck in a line from top to bottom of the pillar, next to the table with the map, with Wilde seated and Barnes standing. Mouth set, he pulls the daggers out and they disappear into sheaths and pockets. He turns back to where Bes is sat at the other table, near another pillar. 

“Bes.” _thunk thunk_

“We can do this.” _thunk thunk_

“I run.” _thunk thunk_

“He fights.” _thunk thunk into the pillar where Wilde sits and Barnes watches_

“We. Get them.” _thunk thunk_

Carter walks over to Bes and drops, boneless, at his feet. His face, looking up, is a promise. 

“Then you will be there with the wagon to take them home.” 

~

_Dawn, barely light, Bes left in the night to collect the horses and the wagon. Carter stands in the road, shifting his weight from foot to foot without appearing to move. Wilde stands in the door, a steaming cup in one hand, papers in the other. As Barnes steps through the door, there is that brush of stillness as they nod, almost a bow, eyes closed, touching foreheads. With an audible breath, Barnes steps back and turns, catching Carter’s gaze as he takes the steps from the porch to the street._

“See ya, Wilde,” calls Carter, as Barnes draws even and they start to run, pulling themselves up into the wagon. Because they can use the road, their steady pace brings them to the first town in just under three hours. They are lucky with the weather, cooler than recently, with cloud cover. Sometimes Carter jumps down and leaves the road, looping away to the right, then crossing the road, looping back, taking Barnes’ hand to step up into the wagon. 

~

They ride in the wagon until the buildings are in sight, then jump down to search on foot. Bes will meet them on the other side, 

As they approach the collection of what used to be small commercial buildings, Barnes slows and walks along the side of the road, watching as Carter stops for a moment and casts some small magic that helps him know when someone is nearby. After, Carter continues to run, checking all the buildings on what passes for a main street. Barnes looks at the road and watches Carter. 

Somehow Carter moves faster but more silently, dodging between and around buildings, crossing over to cover the other side of the street. He is alert moving up on every building, cocks his head (listening, sensing) as he passes close, then shakes his head and moves on. After about a half mile Barnes sets his pack on a bench in a plaza in front of an obviously municipal building. Carter comes panting up and flops onto the bench, pulling a canteen from his pack.

“Nothing. Nobody. Not for a while,” says Carter. “Not in the buildings anyway. See anything?” 

“They came through here. Yesterday, maybe. Footprints are there, but blurry.” Barnes holds a hand close to Carter’s face and drops something tiny from between thumb and finger into his open palm. It is a button, pearlescent, from a fancy blouse, not buried by sand from the most recent storm. Maybe a worn thread parted when a sleeve was pushed up for relief during the march. Or maybe a button sprang away from a tender throat when someone snatched at a child’s collar to move them along, to quiet them, to shake them.

Barnes puts the button carefully into his pack and hands Carter half a flatbread. When Carter looks up to take the bread, Barnes catches his eye and head tilts toward the road, then strides off away from the bench, Carter at his side in a matter of steps. The bread disappears in a couple of bites, chased with water, then they are running again, catching up with Bes who is guiding the wagon parallel to the road but outside the settlement. 

~

The next settlement is much the same, without a button. As they pick up their loping pace, there’s smoke ahead, a smudged line curved like half a rainbow away from the wind. 

Out of sight of the buildings, Bes slows but doesn't stop the wagon as they meet up. As soon as they are seated, Bes clucks to the horses and they are back at speed in minutes. Carter pulls off his boots, curls up against the side of the wagon with his back against Barnes’ thigh and is asleep in moments. 

“They’ll be there, then, probably,” Bes says, nodding at the line of smoke that seems a continuation of the road in the distance. “What’s the smoke, do you think?” 

“Nothing good,” says Barnes. “Maybe a beacon. Not for us, though.” 

~

They draw up outside the settlement as the sun is setting. By the time Carter and Barnes find the source of the smoke, nobody is there, nobody is within view or earshot. The house is still burning. 

“Go. Look. Try there first.” Barnes points, and Carter moves into the shadows, circling first one dark house, then the next, looping into the road after each one, looking back at Barnes with a head shake. The wind has picked up, so there is a background shushing sound. He crosses the street, starts working his way back, circling each house, looking back to where Barnes is walking along the side of the street, sword in hand. 

About three houses away, instead of Carter stepping out quietly with another shake of his head, he sprints out of the shadows, turning tightly, at nearly full speed but almost silently. Barnes stops, holds out his left arm and catches the last of Carter’s momentum. Still looking up the street, he leans in to hear.

“Here,” Carter pants. “Red door. Back room.” 

“Did they see you?”

Carter snorts, shakes his head. 

“Huh. Good.” Barnes reaches up to cup the back of Carter’s neck, like those hours in quarantine, squeezes gently, feels Carter shake out his shoulders and arms, shift his stance. “Take us in.” 

They walk almost touching, Carter leads, into the alley where he came out before. In shadow, close to the wall, in silence, toward the back of the building. Carter flows around the corner, in shadow, in silence. He throws a dagger at the shape by the back door, and before the guard’s last breath ends in a gasping sigh they have caught the body and eased it into the corner next to the steps. The sun is still setting, so the shadows are long but there’s still light.

They stop at the door, listening. Carter turns his head slowly from side to side, points to the right with a dagger. Barnes takes a breath, then pushes open the door and steps in far enough out of the way for Carter to step in behind him, then scans the room as he closes the door. Kitchen, empty, a closed door to the right with light under it and Carter stood against the wall. Now that they are inside they can hear sounds from upstairs, low voices, one set of heavy footsteps. The stairs will be through that door. 

They could wait until full dark, better cover, a chance to plan. But that smoke likely wasn’t accidental, and they have a good chance against the three who are here now, as long as they can keep the element of surprise. Barnes steps to the door, knows Carter watches, pulls the door wide, his sword through one guard’s throat as one of Carter’s daggers _thunks_ into the eye of the other guard, knocking her all the way out of her chair with a crash. 

Silence from the upper floor. They are behind the staircase, so the top of the stairs is right above them, but the stairs are against the wall with no place to hide from the view of someone coming down even though the shadows are deeper. 

Barnes looks carefully at the dead guards but sees no evidence that they are infected. Just thugs then, kidnappers, for ransom or some fell purpose.

Footsteps above them, at the top of the stairs, heavy, deliberate. A question, softly, in Arabic, maybe a name.

Carter and Barnes step silently until they are under the staircase. They can’t risk leaving the guard upstairs. 

A step on the stairs, then another. Heavy. Two more, then a pause. Barnes taps Carter’s shoulder, taps his own chest when Carter looks over, sheathes his sword, pulls his own dagger. The footsteps continue this time, faster, coming down the stairs and around the stair railing, two steps down the hallway when Barnes slams into the person, slams them both into the wall, both grunting with the impact. Carter has a dagger in each hand, moves to the bottom of the stairs, watching the struggle and the staircase.

Barnes plants his right foot on the guard's left boot, pushes hard with his left hand on the guard’s face to keep the guard overbalanced, moving, falling downward against the wall. Barnes continues his motion, too, his knee crashing onto the guard’s chest, dagger right up between the guard’s chin and ear. The guard is big, bigger than Barnes, but they’ve gone down hard.

“Stop. Just stop,” says Barnes, shifting to straddle the guard’s chest and pin their knife arm with his knee. Carter steps over and repeats the word in Arabic, grabbing the knife from the guard’s hand and putting it on the table. The guard looks from Barnes’ face to Carter’s, past Carter to the bodies of the other guards, stills.

“Any more guards?” Carter asks, in Arabic, unslings his pack and pulls out a coil of rope. The guard carefully shakes their head, looking more tired than defeated. Barnes doesn’t let up the pressure on the guard’s arms until Carter has knotted a loop around one hand, then together they shift the guard to kneel next to the wall, hands tied behind them with a loop around their ankles. 

When the guard is trussed, Carter reaches out a hand to pull Barnes to standing. It’s not done, but the hard part is probably over. 

“Good,” says Barnes. “Go. Get Bes.” 

“Yeah,” says Carter, through the door almost before the end of the word. Barnes checks the knots and heads for the stairs. He could wait for Carter and Bes, especially since he doesn’t speak any Arabic. It’s still absolutely quiet upstairs. He knows they’re up there, there were voices earlier, probably scared. 

It’s almost full dark, so he takes the candle lantern that is on a shelf in the kitchen and holds it up, dagger in hand as he walks up the stairs. He’s not being quiet, but there’s still no noise from upstairs. The stairs end in one large room, as large as the whole downstairs, in darkness ahead and to his right. He walks forward, lantern raised, and something takes his feet right out from under him. He falls forward, twisting as he falls to keep the lantern from hitting the floor, something gripping his feet, tangling his legs to the knees. He keeps twisting, sitting up and pushing with his feet until his back is to the wall near the stairs. 

“Hey,” he says, “Hey. Not the guard. Here to help.” A line of darkness cuts through the circle of lantern light. A line. “Huh. Damn.” He keeps both hands away from where his feet and legs are still immobile, on the chance that whatever it is could capture another hand, even the knife. And that guard -- the caster, damn it -- is downstairs, alone. 

~

Carter checks the guard, the guard’s body, at the bottom of the outside stairs, hits his stride within moments and is at full speed before the building disappears in the shadows behind him. He angles toward the other end of the settlement, following the planned route for the wagon. Slows, away from the buildings, striding through deep twilight, almost full dark. The wagon must already be pulled in near the end of the street, so he cuts back toward the buildings, still listening, still watching. The other buildings are still silent but there’s something, something waiting, something, watching back from down the street, from where he left. Where he left them.

“Oh. Damn.” Carter is stood in the road, prickling with disquiet, torn. Imagines Barnes, remembers the planning, the drills, steps off toward where Bes should be with the wagon. From his pack, as he walks, pulls out and lights a flare, torch-bright when he turns into alley space, Bes’ startled eyes reflecting back from where he stands next to the horses.

“Come. Come quick.” Carter grabs the cheek strap on the off horse’s bridle, clucking and tugging toward the street. “We found them. But there’s something.”

“What,” says Bes, scrambling up to the wagon seat and picking up the reins. There’s a lantern on the seat and Bes’ club, part mace, part quarterstaff. Carter trots at the horse’s head, pitching his voice for Bes to hear.

“Four guards. Killed three. Kids upstairs. One guard tied up, but not dead, and casting, now.” Carter shines his light ahead, looking for the red door. “Stupid. My job, stupid.” Barnes is there. Something else is there, too. “There.” He tugs the bridle strap, Bes pulls the reins, the wagon slews a little in the dusty street, the horses stamp.

Carter goes to Bes. “Wait. We’ll bring them out the front door.” The back door is open, but too far. The front door opens right to the hallway, right to the caster, right to the stairs, but it could be locked. 

“You sure?” Bes loops the reins, picks up the club, clambers down from the wagon. 

“Not. No. Not sure, yet,” Carter says, studying. The house is dark. The railing, the porch, the dark window. “Ah. There, that will do it. Stay by the door. Be ready.” He hands Bes the light, punches his shoulder, steps up to the porch, onto the railing. Balanced, two steps, leaps, catches the edge of the roof, swings one leg and pulls himself, flat, onto the porch roof, away from that window where the dark presses outward. 

Flat against the roof, Carter hums softly, then chants, about light, waiting, into his closed fist. Three verses, and there is a glow between his fingers. He slides toward the blank window, ready with a dagger and his handful of light, hopes Barnes isn’t right on the other side. With sharp breath in, Carter throws the dagger, then flings light, then throws himself to the window, looking through the broken glass. Yells, flings light at Barnes, rolls himself through the window, taking the rest of the glass with him, lands, crouching. “Hey Barnes.” His voice sounds flat, deadened by the curtain of dark. The light he threw is pooling around where Barnes is still, sitting, ready. 

“Carter. Good. What the fuck is that darkness. And my feet are stuck.”

Carter flings the last handful of light at the line of dark, and it seems to splash, and stick, and fizzle, silent, and the dark curtain is in tatters. Through the dissolving shreds they see a candle, and see faces, wide eyed. 

“Hush,” says Carter, then adds, in Arabic, “Just another minute.” He whistles softly, the tune a question. When the last note fades, he nods the all clear to Barnes. 

He has daggers in both hands again, slips past Barnes and down the stairs, no stealth, just hurry. Barnes hears sound but no words, the guard speaks, Carter answers, then a choking shriek. The circles of lantern light and candle light expand and the tight sense of captivity drains away. Barnes hears a latch clank and the creak of hinges as Carter opens the front door. 

Then Carter is back at the top of the stairs, crouched next to Barnes, shoulder leaning hard, both looking at the group of children. Then Bes is there, rushing in, and there is a burst of babbling sound. 

“My fault,” says Barnes, at the same time Carter says, “I’m stupid.” 

Carter pulls a bottle out of his pack, sprinkles solvent over Barnes’ lower legs and feet, pulls Barnes to his feet. “Actually, you’re the stupid one, stepping in that,” says Carter. 

“Huh. You missed the caster,” says Barnes, “Argue later.” He holds Carter’s shoulder, calls to Bes.

“All right?” 

Bes looks over at them, children clinging to every part of him, tears on his face. They are halflings, truly youngsters, tiny but sturdy, all of them crying, overflowing with relief. “All right.”

Barnes goes down the stairs first, stands in the hall, holds the lantern to light the stairs, mostly blocks the view of the dead guards. Bes is next, the children traipsing down after him, down the stairs, through the door and onto the porch. Carter meets Barnes at the bottom of the stairs. They watch Bes lift the children into the wagon, then turn back into the house. 

Barnes lifts his chin toward the kitchen and Carter leads, out the back door. Together they lift and drag the first body into the house, laying him out on the kitchen floor. Carter searches pockets and sheaths, tossing daggers and coin into the guard’s pack. Barnes drags another body into the kitchen, hands Carter the dagger that was through her eye. Another search, more coins, a short sword, gold rings. The other two guards, they drag in and lay them out the same way. They don’t search the last guard, the caster, just take the pack, the embossed leather collar, a jeweled hair clip. Barnes picks up the packs, walks to the door and out. 

Carter is stood in the kitchen with the bodies, reaches out with both arms, palms up. He stills, for a breath, for another, listening, sensing. He chants, softly, fear and anger and sorrow, and spots of fire fill his open hands. “We got them,” he says, “And now you burn.” He tips over his hands, pouring out the fire, shaking off the flames as he turns and runs through the house and out the door.

~

They don’t stop, leaving the central road and moving through the darkness that is just night. Barnes is driving, mostly watching. The children start in a huddled pack near Bes, sipping from water bottles and nibbling at the hard bread and dried fruit. Sometimes one weeps, others creeping closer, Bes speaking to them softly. They make little nests, finally sleep. 

Carter kneels in the back of the wagon, watches the flames burning behind them and the plume of dark smoke against the stars, scanning for pursuit, wakeful. After even the smoke is out of sight, he curls up in the back corner, finally sleeps. 

The sky is lightening to their left when Bes takes the reins back, Barnes stepping back into the wagon. The movement is enough to wake Carter, who sits up, shakes, sighs. He looks, senses, carefully, all the way around. Barnes watches his face, every movement of eye and lip a possible telltale. 

Bes calls softly from the front. “Be there soon. Just over that rise.” 

“I’ll go and tell them,” Carter says, jumping over the side of the wagon and jogging beside. “We got them.” He starts running, faster and faster, and the rising sun catches his hair and his grim smile.

“We did,” says Barnes. “We got them.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid” by The Offspring


End file.
